What Do You Want?
by Meggo929
Summary: "Agent Collins can be removed from your guard rotation Darce." She glances at him over a shoulder and he lets go when she tugs, regretting it immediately. Emotions flicker from embarrassment, to anger, and settles on resigned. "It's not just him Clint," she tells him softly, "but thank you." Darcy's through the door before he reacts. Cross-posted from AO3


Darcy was not in a good mood. Jane her wonderful, brilliant best friend has managed to forget Stark Industries annual Green Initiative Gala until Jarvis gently chimed in with a reminder. Which usually wouldn't be a problem, but she also forget to inform Darcy that her presence is also required. Which was a problem since Darcy does not have a plethora of formal dresses lying around.

Jane is simple. Put her in almost any off the designer gown and she shines. But Darcy has curves and Haute Couture is not designed for her body. Thankfully, a panicked phone call to Pepper, who was more than experienced with absentminded scientists, procures a dress and a tailor within an hour. Unfortunately, said dress was not something Darcy would have picked. Ever.

The navy blue sheath hugs her curves a bit tighter than she would normally choose and she wasn't sure about the slits adorning the sides. Pepper's tailor magically got the hem to a point where she won't trip as she walks and small crystals adoring the bodice shimmer in the soft light. The corseted top lifts her breasts until they were almost on display. Not to mention barely covered. Small scallops of lace lay across the neckline, somehow keeping the dress from being indecent.

Her mood doesn't improve once they arrived. Agent Collins gaze barely drifts from her cleavage the entire ride over. Darcy doesn't quite understand why she needs a guard duty, Jane was the one with the brilliant mind and demigod boyfriend. But the orders came from Coulson and no one argued with Coulson. She attempts to slip away from the leering agent to mingle, but she quickly tires of the sideways glances and dismissive comments from the other guests. Finally, after Senator Williams hints that he and his wife would enjoy her as a third member in the bedroom, Darcy escapes to a formal study that was technically off-limits that evening before completely losing her temper.

She weaves her way between comfortable looking overstuffed chairs to the haven of the balcony, fall weather be damned. Her forearms rest against the marble, cooling her skin, but not her temper. Her eyes drift shut as she enjoys the moment of solitude, only to feel her irritation rise as she hears the gentle snick of a door opening and assumes the overly amorous agent has finally put his skills to use and tracked her down. "So help me Collins, if you don't turn around I will tase you and have Thor dangle you over the roof by one leg," she grinds out.

A dry chuckle informs her it is not, in fact, Agent Collins. "As fun as that sounds, I'll have to pass." Clint leans against the railing next to her, a bit too close to be socially acceptable. He doesn't speak again, but she's acutely aware of his presence. The two have walked a fine line for months; teasing conversations that slide dangerously close to flirting and longing looks from the corners of eyes after a few too many beers on Friday nights.

Eventually the night air sends shivers down her arms and Clint's edged close enough for their arms to touch. Still neither speak until she huffs out a breath and turns to him. "What do you want Clint?" He hears the frustration running below her words and faces her.

"You looked upset."

"I was. I'm not anymore." Darcy smiles as she replies, but she knows it won't pass as real. She turns towards the door and his hand reaches for hers.

"Agent Collins can be removed from your guard rotation Darce." She glances at him over a shoulder and he lets go when she tugs and regrets it immediately. Emotions flicker from embarrassment, to anger, and settle on resigned.

"It's not just him Clint," she tells him softly, "but thank you." Darcy's through the door before he reacts. He utters a soft curse and follows behind her, catching up midway through the room. His hand settles on her upper arm, stilling her movements.

"Talk to me," he asks quietly. Darcy pulls away and turns to face him, frustration finally boiling over.

"What do you want to know? That people see this," she motions towards her cleavage, "and assume my brains don't work? They think there's no way I can understand Jane's science and that Tony keeps me around for entertainment value. Collins isn't the first person who can't look past the package and he won't be the last." She glares at him, daring him to argue with her.

Clint doesn't speak at first and Darcy whirls away once again. She pauses when his hands fall against the swell of her hips, pulling her back against him lightly. His lips ghost across her temple, so light she swears it's her imagination. "Those people," he begins, "are blind Darce."

"And what do you know about it?" she counters.

"I know you correct Jane's math when she's been up for two days straight and that you found the patterns that helped Jane open the BiFrost. I know you're planning on taking grad classes at Columbia next semester." His fingers begin tracing nonsensical patterns against her hips and stomach as he feels her slowly relaxing. "I know you impressed Pepper so much last month with your suggestion of expanding clean energy education and production to third world countries that she plans on asking you to help develop the plan. So if the people out there can't see beyond this," he draws his hands from hip to ribcage slowly, "then it's their own damn loss."

She hums noncommittally and allows him to pull him even closer. They stand once again in silence, his arms still wrapped around Darcy as the evenings frustrations slowly seep from her frame. His hands trace along the seams and swirls of the fabric, pausing underneath her breasts before trailing down again. Without thinking, his lips graze the curve of her neck, the faint stubble dragging against her skin. She shudders slightly and Clint's arms tighten around her, pulling her closer. He works his way up her neck, placing small kisses as he goes.

Darcy shifts and he stills, knowing these movements betray the words he's spoken, but Clint's always been impulsive. "Tell me to stop," he whispers against her ear and it's her turn to still.

"Why should I?" she challenges, mischief coloring her voice now instead of frustration. The words stick in his throat as her hand covers his and urges them upward. Clint's hand slides between lace and skin, cupping her breast softly. His lips settle below her ear, whispering words of adoration. His thumb drags across a nipple, reveling in the small whimper it elicits and echoes the movement on the other breast. He alternates the feather light touches until she's pressed fully against him, using his arms as support. He nips the curve of her neck one last time before removing his hands.

Darcy makes a small noise of displeasure before one resettles heavily across her stomach. The other traces down her side, pausing at the top of the dress's side slit. Darcy's hips shift restlessly as his hand glides against the expanse of smooth thigh towards her center. Clint tugs the wisp of silk down her hips and groans as her hips cant upwards, letting his fingers slide easily against her damp skin. She bucks towards his hands when his thumb grazes across her clit. He circles and teases the bundle of nerves as she whimpers in his arms. His touches alternate between firm and feather light, coaxing her to the edge of exstasy before pulling her back. The exquisite torture continues until she's pleading wit him in half formed words and throaty moans. Clint smiles against her skin and gives into her pleas, holding her to him as her orgasm slides over her, leaving her shaking in his arms.

As Darcy recovers, her hand slide between them, palming him through his pants. It's Clint's turn to moan as she strokes him through the cloth, tracing his length with her fingers. His jaw and he bites back a moan as she slowly teases him through the fabric. She fumbles with the zipper and finally pushes her away. "Patience darling," he whispers into her ear as he pulls away from her.

He guides her towards a chair and pushes her upper body forward until she leans against the back. She rests on her forearms as both of Clint's hands rove underneath the skirt of her dress. He kneels behind her, hands trailing down her thighs and calves as he slides her panties down and off her legs. Fingertips drag against Darcy's skin as he stands and gathers her skirt in his hands. Clint pulls the skirt up slightly and whispers "no wrinkles" in her ear as he steps back.

Clint fishes a condom out of a pocket and quickly undoes his belt and zipper, pushing the pants and boxer briefs down his legs. Darcy's turned her head and watches him roll the condom on through eyelashes. She smiles and crooks a finger at him. He steps between her legs, his hands settled against her hips. She rocks back towards him until his cock settles against her entrance. Clint pushes forward into her and her head drops forward, another whimper escaping her.

Clint's hands settle on her waist as he thrusts into her. He pauses a moment as her body adjusts around him, enjoying the way her muscles flutter. They find a rhythm and angle that has them both moaning at the sensation. His movements become sharper, harder, as she gasps encouragement to him. A hand slide down her hip, against the slope of her stomach and unerringly finds her clit. Darcy gasps out half formed phrases and noises of pleasure he revels in. Her muscles tighten around Clint, pulling him closer and he knows she's close. His thumbnail drags across her clit and she tightens around his cock and cries out as a second orgasm overtakes her. He fucks her through the orgasm, words of praise falling from his lips.

His hip jerk against her roughly as his own orgasm surprises him and his groan of pleasure reverberates through the room. Clint drops against her back, neither moving for several moments. He pulls out and disposes of a condom as Darcy rights her skirt and slides her panties back up her legs. She finds herself in his arms again, his hands tangled in her curls as lowers his heads to her. The kiss is soft, almost hesitant given what they just did together. Darcy slides a hand behind against his neck, pulling him closer as her lips part under his.

Clint finally pulls away and lets his forehead rest against hers. She sees the worry begin to settle in his eyes before he starts to speak. "I meant what I said Darce," he begins. "I didn't . . . we didn't . . . just because you were upset . . ." Her hand settles across his mouth, effectively silencing his uncertain rambling.

"I know Clint." This time the smile she gives him reaches her eyes and he can't help but smile back. She steps away and holds a hand out to him. "I think I'm getting a headache. It might be best if you make sure I get home safely," Darcy suggests, her eyes sparking with equal parts mirth and desire.

He steps towards her and takes the offered hand. "I think that'd be best," he agrees. "I may need to stay the night, just to make sure you're okay. If you want."

Her shoulder bumps against his in a familiar, comfortable gesture. "Yeah. I want." Darcy adores the goofy grin he sends her.


End file.
